


After five times it's beginning to look like a habit.

by Snoozydog



Series: Sleeping arrangements [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/pseuds/Snoozydog
Summary: Sally tries the novelty of asking Sherlock a question after sex. She's not sure the answer is of any true meaning.





	After five times it's beginning to look like a habit.

"Are you sleeping with Lestrade too?"

They don’t normally talk. Not like this. If you can call what they’re doing normal. Nothing about Sherlock Holmes constitutes as normal.  
She can see him stiffen slightly at the question, but it doesn’t mean that it is the question itself that results in that reaction. It could just as easily be the fact that she’s talking to him at all. Because what they normally do is more like needling each other, or rather she is insulting him, trying to rile him up or offend, whereas he either returns the favor or simply ignores her, treating her like air. I.e. too boring to bother with. That’s worse and it makes her want to retaliate double fold, claw his eyes out, shred that stupid coat to pieces, humiliate him to the core. It hasn’t happened yet. But it might one day. 

"Why do you think that I would?"

He doesn’t look at her, just continues to put his trousers on, his back half-way turned against her. She can see a small portion of his profile, but it is neutral, conveying no feelings at all. Like usual then.  
She doesn’t really know why she asked that question, it just came out. She has thought about it before of course, like most members of the team. The power The Freak holds over her boss is baffling to say the least. It’s humiliating, for the whole team but mostly for Lestrade obviously. Not that Lestrade himself sees it that way. It could just be his kindness or sense of morals, people’s lives depend on the help of the consulting detective, even she can concede that. But the prize… it’s too high.  
If she had any say she would kick his arse out as soon as he even tried to cross the yellow tape surrounding their crime scenes, verbally she has done so several times, but it never results in him actually leaving. He just waves her away with his imperious hand or makes a scathing comeback to one of her insults. Because he knows that by the end of the walk across a crime scene there is both “a puzzle” as he likes to call it and a detective inspector almost bending backwards in his efforts to showcase his neediness. They must be sleeping together, she’s almost certain. 

"Because I’ve known Lestrade for several years now and he has never tolerated anyone to trample over him the way that you do."  
"So therefore we must be sleeping with each other?"  
There is a hint of scornfulness in his tone now but he’s still not looking at her. He so seldom does. His fingers continue from the trousers up to the buttons of the shirt, he’ll be out the door in less than five minutes. It suits her fine, she has laundry to do in the morgning, no time for socializing.

"It would at least explain it. We all know about the wife so he’s not getting any from her."  
"Most certainly not," he agrees.  
"….and you’re having him lead by the nose so profoundly it’s sickening to see it…It’s an easy assumption."  
"Making assumptions is exactly why you’re not more successful with your crime solving rate and your boss is so eager to see me. At least I give him results."

And the itch to hurt him is back.  
It barely leaves, not even when they’re having sex and she doesn’t even know why she’s doing this, sleeping with him. Anderson could very well be fulfilling enough, right?  
But that is the core of the problem isn’t it? Anderson is not enough. Where Sherlock Holmes has a firm body, is energetic, full of stamina and surprisingly intuitive as a lover Anderson is anything but.  
He’s softer in the flesh, boring, definitely not as good looking as the freak, but he also lacks the finesse and technicality of lovemaking. She is pretty sure Sherlock Holmes is all about calculating and experimenting during their sex, he probably sees it as gathering data, but at least he’s more than competent at it, as with everything else that he does that doesn’t require social skills.  
He is surprisingly tender sometimes but equally firm and rough when she wants it, he’s probably deducing her needs throughout the whole act but she doesn’t care. He’s a really good fuck.

She still doesn’t know how this little arrangement came to be and why it keeps happening.  
If it had only been one occasion she could have written it off as curiosity but no, not when it keeps occuring. 

The first time was right after a case. Lestrade had been forced to leave early, some problem with the wife and Sherlock was still high from the thrill of solving a, in retrospect, quite intricate web of clues leading to the arrest of a senior gang of cat burglars. She had been left in charge on the scene of the arrest to make sure procedures where being followed and final evidence gathered by the forensics (not Anderson back then). She had been in a really foul mood because of The Freak’s gloating and they had clashed verbally in a spectacular way even by their standards, but still ended up in his dingy flat at Montague Street twenty minutes later. If it was the proximity to his flat that sealed the deal or if it would have happened anyway she never could figure out. 

All their recurring meetings followed the same pattern, one of them texted the other, always after a case, never during, a simple suggestion of time and place, nothing more.  
It was easy, uncomplicated, it seemed to satisfy a need she obviously had although she couldn’t pinpoint why that was and it always ended as clinically as it started. They just had sex, never anything more. No talks afterwards, no awkwardness, no expectations, just thank you, good bye, see you next time. Not even that was ever really expressed, the continuation of their meetings, it just happened randomly. But after five times it was beginning to look like a habit now. 

She wasn’t sure what she thought about it, after the third time she had felt nervous that this was something she was going to get caught up in, that it would change from being easy to turning complicated, because wasn’t that always the case in the end?  
So she had hooked up with Anderson. He had flirted with her the very first time they met, but she had never really paid him any attention, she knew that he was married, that he was a compulsive cheater and she wasn’t that attracted by him physically either. But when she started to worry that things with The Freak were beginning to morph into something she would lose control over it was easy to replace one sexual partner with another. At least that was the initial idea. It didn’t end up being like that of course. Now she was apparently seeing them both. 

She doesn’t know why she’s asking this question about Lestrade right now. It’s not like she’s jealous.  
If there would be a potential threat to the continuation of these meetings it would probably come in the form of that new roommate instead, Dr Watson.  
She can’t figure him out. He seems like a normal person, nondescript, nothing like the consulting detective at all, calm, steadfast and a bit on the quiet side.  
But something is keeping him right in the middle of the craziness that must constitute living with Sherlock Holmes. At least they’re not cohabiting in that awful flat on Montague street. The squalor of that place runs a shudder down her spine at the memory of it, she needed to buy disinfection wipes from the Tesco store down the street afterwards just to remove the sense of stickiness to her skin. A layer of nonspecific gluiness had covered the floor of the whole flat and further sexual encounters had been at her place. But Baker Street is only marginally better, probably because of the doctor and that old woman downstairs. The Freak most likely never lifted a finger in his life when it came to cleaning.  
But despite the dirty flat and the lack of any humanity whatsoever in The Freak's personality Dr Watson has stayed firmly by his side on all occasions and even deigns to glare at her when she gives the detective one of her scathing insults. He is like a watchdog, Watson, so surprisingly loyal to and protective of a person who never shows any gratitude. Maybe they are sleeping with each other as well? Or the doctor at least harbors thoughts of being intimate with his flatmate. 

He’s finished dressing now and is taking a final look in the mirror. Time to depart. She’s still sitting on the sofa, naked underneath a dressing gown. Nothing like the fancy dressing gowns he favors, it’s polyestersatin not silk for starters and it’s old, but she doesn’t bother with buying a new one.  
It’s not like she’s seeing someone special.


End file.
